


Occam's Razor

by CaveDwellers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Armin is a'gonna solve this Mystery, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Has this mystery been solved in canon?, I stopped paying attention years ago WHO CAN SAY, but it hadn't been by the time I wrote this so let's all pretend, okay I just liked him and wanted to do a character study, that has surely been solved in the canon by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaveDwellers/pseuds/CaveDwellers
Summary: For Armin, physical strength is hard won. How he is in the interim, though; that shows the depth of his character, and the Eren-like resilience that he barely even knows that he possesses.





	Occam's Razor

**Author's Note:**

> A fic from 2013, originally posted on ff.net. Finally got around to bringing it over here! I was firmly of the mind that Armin could have figured out The Mystery of the titans, if only he had been given all the information. Also, because Armin was one of my favorites.

Armin still remembers how his hands blistered while he and Eren and Mikasa, along with all the other surviving Maria refugees, tilled and plowed fields in the outskirts of Wall Rose. There was never time to let them heal, and so for the better part of a year they only got worse, the damage digging ever deeper into his skin. Mikasa and Eren never had that problem. At the time, Armin had chalked it up as testament to the fact that he was weaker than them.

“You were the only reason I kept going, back then,” Eren tells him now, because Armin isn’t sure what to think of that experience anymore, and it’s troubling enough that he’s asked Mikasa and Eren for their opinion. “Seeing you deal with something so painful, without complaining once, proved to me what little I had to complain about, Armin.”

Mikasa wordlessly grabs his wrist and shows him his own palm. The calluses that finally formed on his hand are forever tinged with the purple of scar tissue, but they’re not going anywhere. Armin’s hands will never experience another blister again. She looks right at him and says, “I don’t have anything like this. You’re the only one.”

She makes it clear that this says more about him than he thinks, and it only takes Armin a moment to understand what she means. He isn’t sure he agrees, but he does understand.

For Armin, physical strength is hard won. How he is in the interim, though—that shows the depth of his character, and the Eren-like resilience that he barely even knows that he possesses. And when he does finally win that strength, it won’t leave him. People like Mikasa, who earn their strength in the moment they need it most, and who grip it desperately thereafter, will never know the sort of benefits that a long, hard journey might incidentally offer.

As he grows older, Armin finds that those scar-tinged calluses and what they represent might as well be the metaphor for his entire life.

* * *

It’s the most frustrating thing, being told to create elaborate tactical plans that put real people in real danger when you don’t really know what you’re fighting against. Armin _knows_ there’s a piece of information he hasn’t gotten his hands on yet. He thinks he can see the invisible strings that connect what he already knows, but he needs that one tiny, pivotal piece to bring it all together into one coherent picture.

The walls contain colossal titans. Eren’s ability to transform into a titan isn’t an anomaly, it is a carefully embedded fact. Bertholdt and Annie and Reiner are all desperate to capture Eren. Annie seems to be the most desperate of the three; she became uncharacteristically reckless towards the end, before she encased herself in that crystal cocoon. It’s clear to Armin that she carries the pivotal piece he wants, but it’s also clear that he’s going to have to get it from another source.

Hanji overwhelms and intimidates Armin, so he gleans from Eren what the other can remember about her experiments with the titans Bean and Sonny. Their limbs are lighter than they should be—illusionary? Is that even possible?

But they gain energy from the sun like plants, so who’s to say what is and isn’t possible?

Regular titans are cognitively stunted, but they do possess the ability to learn, however belated. They also eat humans with blind purpose, though they cannot digest them—there must be a purpose in that. They can’t simply be eating people for the fun of it.

 _What do you think the enemy is?_ Erwin had asked Eren. _What,_ not who.

Eren’s father gave him an injection and the key to the basement of their house in Wall Maria before he disappeared. What are the odds that Eren is able to transform into a titan after that? What are the odds that, the same day that Eren’s father finally concedes to reveal the mysterious contents of the basement, Wall Maria is infiltrated by Reiner and Bertholdt in their titan forms, and abruptly taken over by titans? Clearly, the titans have possessed this capacity all along. But if all they want is to eat humans, and they have this ability, why not just break through every wall and devour the rest of the human race? What is stopping them?

It’s all connected. The answer is very simple. Armin just needs to distill everything he knows down to that single point.

* * *

“I just want to talk to him,” Armin says to Levi, who has been terminally tasked with Father Nick’s presence. “I have an idea on how to get the information we’re looking for.”

Captain Levi eyes Armin’s civilian clothes critically. “You don’t think he knows who you are, after the hearing about Eren?”

“That’s not why I’m not in uniform. I’m trying to prove that this isn’t a business-related visit.”

Levi is quiet for a moment before shrugging one shoulder and gesturing over the other with his hand. “If you think you can crack him, strategist.”

Levi is a strange one. The way he bows so readily before authority and yet still observes everything with a calculating gleam in his eye puzzles Armin. Of course, he isn’t convinced Levi even really recognizes him, but that’s also how Levi looks at everybody. Armin knows that it isn’t personal, per se. Levi has followed Armin’s tactical advice to relatively good ends before, and he was at Eren’s hearing just as obviously as Mikasa and Armin. Armin is also certain that if Levi didn’t know who he was, this visit with Pastor Nick would not be possible.

Armin nods respectfully at his Captain before he goes into Father Nick’s room. “Pastor?”

Pastor Nick looks far more world-weary now than he had before Eren and Annie fought each other within wall Shina. There are so many lines of stress and worry around his eyes and mouth, and several brunette hairs have gone white.

When he sees Armin, recognition flashes immediately in his face. He lets out a sigh. “I’ve told you all that I can.”

“Actually, I’m here because I’m genuinely curious,” Armin says. “May I sit?”

The priest sighs again and gestures to the one wooden chair in the room. The man himself is sitting cross-legged on the floor in what looks suspiciously like a position of meditation. “Might as well.”

Armin sits and says, “I want to learn more about your religion.”

The priest is skeptical, but he is also taken aback—and just like that, what Armin has to say interests him. “What was that?”

“Your religion. I’m curious about it,” Armin repeats patiently. “I’ve never been part of a religion before, and I want to learn more about this one.”

Pastor Nick pulls himself up to sit on his bed across from Armin. His demeanor is more open now than it was before, much more receptive. “What do you want to know?”

“The Walls are Goddesses on earth, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. Maria, Rose and Shina—shining goddesses, standing strong for all that is left of the good in this world!”

It’s amazing, how animated someone becomes when they speak of something they truly believe in. Armin sees this in the priest now. Suddenly the lines on his face and the graying of his hair are less obvious, and his eyes glitter with passion. The man touches the ornament that spreads across his collarbone reverently, two fingers brushing over the insignias for each of the Walls.

“If the Walls are Goddesses,” Armin says, choosing his words very, very carefully. One wrong turn of phrase, and the priest will snap shut like a trap, and Armin’s one chance will be lost. “Then mankind could not have built them. Is that correct?”

“Absolutely,” says Pastor Nick emphatically. “That is absolutely right.”

“This is part that I am most curious about,” explains Armin. “How did these Goddesses know that we needed the Walls?”

“Because they saw that humanity needed them! Humanity was going extinct, child. The Goddesses protect us from harm.”

“So they stretched themselves around us in the form of the Walls we know and love today, right before humanity’s eyes?”

Pastor Nick pauses, stymied. His passion dims and he tilts his head to the side. “I’m not sure I understand your question, child.”

“Could you please tell me the story of how the Goddesses revealed themselves to us?” says Armin, leaning slightly forward with his arms balanced on his knees. “I’d really like to hear it.”

Pastor Nick is even more befuddled now. He shakes his head. “The Walls are right in front of us, child. They have been for a century. How more revealing could the Goddesses be?”

“Did humanity find the Walls, or did the Walls find us?” asks Armin, keeping his tone carefully academic. This is the information that he really wants the Pastor to give him, but if he sounds even a little suspicious, he will never get it. Whether Pastor Nick will see through this or not is a gamble that Armin is not sure he will win. “This land that the Goddesses Maria, Rose and Shina chose to protect on—who found this land first, humans or the Goddesses?”

Armin’s gamble pays off in a slightly unorthodox, but nonetheless very telling fashion. The pastor, after having been lulled into a sense of comfort and openness, cannot conceal his reaction to this question fast enough. The expression he flashes before he shuts down tells Armin exactly one thing: there is no story of how the Goddesses came down to earth and saved humanity by forming themselves into the Walls.

Humanity has only been living behind the walls for a century; if there were such an awe-inspiring tale to help strengthen his religion, Pastor Nick would have told it gladly. If this story existed, all of humanity would know it. This means that humanity came to this land after the walls had been built.

“I hope that you have more clarity now,” says Pastor Nick stiffly. He gestures to the closed wooden door of his room. “Please, I need to return to my meditation.”

Armin stands cooperatively, but does not leave. “Pastor, I have just one more question. Please, it’s not about the Walls.”

The priest lets out a heavy, long-suffering sigh, but seems to say to himself, “what the hell”. “What is it, then?” he says to Armin, tired and resigned.

“What do you think the enemy is?” When Armin asks this, he works very hard not to sound accusatory, merely curious. And he is. Coming from someone who knows as much as Pastor Nick, someone who is willing to go toe-to-toe with an infuriated Hanji and not give up the information he has—yes, Armin is very curious, indeed. Doesn’t the pastor want this war to be over as much as anyone else?

This time Pastor Nick’s sigh isn’t belabored, it’s downright sad. “Our own nature, child. It’s killed as many humans as the titans, and then some.” Then he waves Armin off. “Now go. I don’t want to see the likes of you again. I’ve already said too much.”

Armin thanks the man as he leaves, because they both know he won’t have to find Pastor Nick again. The man has given him all he needs.

* * *

It isn’t until Armin finally manages to sneak a risky meeting with Christ—err, sorry, _Historia_ —that he starts to understand the pieces he’s seeing. Ymir, who doesn’t seem to leave Historia’s side anymore (a point neither of them seems willing to address in his presence) also knows the piece he wants, but like Annie, she isn’t talking.

Her very existence, though, the story of when she started to shift between her human and titan forms—that helps.

 _What_ is the enemy, not who.

Armin’s old books taught him that humanity used to fight amongst itself all the time, before the arrival of titans. They used to fight over religion, skin color, ideology—but that was all set pointedly aside when the titans came into the picture.

And that’s when it hits him: could it really be that simple?

* * *

Armin knows from Connie (and, later, Historia) that the Ape Titan is supposed to be in equal parts terrifying and fascinating and otherworldly. Its clear-as-day intelligence reminds you of a titan shifter, except no one has ever been close enough and lived to tell the tale.

The process is a bit laborious, but Armin has managed to stitch together something about the Ape Titan’s motives and offensive techniques. He accomplishes this almost exclusively from endless retellings and interviews with the survivors of the first nighttime titan attack, where the first documented sighting of the Ape Titan took place. This happens mostly with Connie, who has since told Armin that he will find himself hanging from a branch by his underwear with some 3D maneuver gear _just_ out of reach if Connie catches him even thinking about asking about that incident again.

Leave it to Connie to make jokes like that. At least, Armin _thinks_ it’s a joke…

Despite how many times he’s experienced it at this point, terror never gets old. It’s always new and different and just as difficult to wrestle down this time as it was the first time. Armin has gotten used to that process, though, which is as good as it gets. Being afraid is okay, as long as you don’t let it paralyze you.

“Fear is what keeps us alive, isn’t it?” Jean muses one night, lying on his back in his sleep roll and staring up at the moldy, rotting ceiling of a house that was abandoned a long time ago. They’re using it for shelter at the moment, their numbers limited and campfires going un-built so as not to attract the attention of the rare night-titans. “Fearing for your life helps you to remember that you should protect it.”

“I prefer looking at it like that,” Armin admits from the next sleep roll. “If you look at it as anything else, it could very well be the death of you.”

There are times when Armin has to marvel at how blasé they all are, discussing their own mortalities as simply and easily as this. The sacrifice of human life hasn’t lost its meaning, per se—at least, it hasn’t to those who are knowingly sacrificing themselves—but it’s a sacrifice the human race has had to give so often that many of those in the Scouting Legion are now numb to the truly horrifying concept these words actually represent.

Armin remembers that conversation now, as he sees the Ape Titan for the first time. The knuckles of its long arms reach past its knees, and its dark, hirsute form seems to swallow the sunlight that is shining down on them all. It’s at least as tall as the colossal titan. Each step, each blink—it all unmistakably radiates intelligence.

Armin is tempted to halt his horse, just so that he can stare (just so he doesn’t have to get any closer), but instead he spurns his mount forward, faster, until he starts to separate from the formation entirely, leaving his group behind.

All the novels that Armin has ever managed to find feature a character like Eren. Eren is so easy to trust and empathize with; he’s so capable that it’s easy to place your faith in him. People like Armin are just supporting characters, people whose entire purpose is to aid the cause of the main character, and that’s okay. He knows he would be crushed by the proverbial weight he has seen Eren carrying.

If Armin can help his best friend end this war, then he will. It isn’t a question of what he is willing to do, but a matter of when he can do it. And, in this case, this is something that only Armin can accomplish.

“Armin, what are you doing?” shouts Jean. “You’re breaking rank!”

Armin does not allow himself to look back. Sweat is sprouting on his forehead and upper lip, it’s making the reins in his hands a little hard to hold securely, but he bends over the neck of his now-galloping horse and makes a beeline for the Ape Titan. It feels a lot like charging head-first into the pits of hell, but he’s 80% sure that this will work. That’s much better certainty than he’s used to wagering human lives on.

“Hey!” he shouts when he thinks he’s close enough for the Ape Titan to hear him. He grabs the hem of his forest-green cloak and waves it about to get the creature’s attention. “Hey, down here!”

The Ape Titan is too tall for Armin’s voice to carry. Either that, or it’s simply ignoring him. It seems to have no interest in the humans themselves, but rather the way the miniature army of regular titans react to their presence. Its hairy face expresses the same interest that Hanji does when she starts a new experiment. Neither anger nor grief register when one of its titan-minions is killed by a member of the Scouting Legion. Likewise, nothing but continued interest is shown whenever a human is devoured.

“Armin!” Mikasa’s shout comes out of nowhere, and the next thing Armin knows she is flashing by in a green and metallic blur, swinging up and expertly cutting out a hefty wedge from the neck of the titan who has started closing in on him. Armin knows from experience just how difficult a maneuver like that is out here in the open. It’s a miracle that she managed it at all.

Mikasa’s face expresses only perfect self control as she uses the momentum from the falling titan to swing over to the next one, and cut that one down too. She then rides on the creature’s shoulder as it crashes to the ground, somehow managing not to tear up clods of grass as it skids. Mikasa jumps off and grabs the reigns of her own horse (which seemed to know that going to Armin was a good idea) as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Her dark eyes don’t appear to have emotion, at first glance, but Armin has known Mikasa long enough that he can see the concern buried under her calm demeanor. “What are you doing?” she asks him. There are more titans coming towards them, but they have a couple of seconds before they need to react.

“I need to get close to the Ape Titan,” Armin says, as serious as he was when he argued that Eren’s abilities were useful while staring down the barrel of a canon. “If I can do that, I can do more good than I can anywhere else. Will you help me?”

Mikasa knows exactly what he is asking for—a trailblazer. Perhaps it isn’t fair to ask this of her, but she is one of the only people capable of surviving the assignment.

Her response is embedded in the way she tag-teams a kill with another flash of green-and-metal, both of them moving quicker than someone with 3D maneuver gear out in the open should. The titan is steaming in the grass before Armin knows it.

One of the best things to happen to the Survey Corps since the assembly of the Special Ops Unit is Levi and Mikasa figuring out how to work together. Individually, they are formidable. Together, they are nearly invincible. No classic titan stands a chance against them.

Armin could not have asked for a better trailblazer.

It goes without saying that they are trusting this unorthodox and unplanned mission is important, but Armin has a good reputation for these sorts of things. That’s probably the only reason they’re humoring him right now.

Between Mikasa and Levi, trailblazing without the proper environment for 3D maneuver gear doesn’t seem quite so desperate and impossible. Considering what they’re up against, everything is actually going quite well. Aside from possibly the Ape Titan, no titan shifters are around, and in comparison to Bertholdt or Reiner (or Annie, who is still sealed in her crystal cocoon, as far as Armin knows) those aren’t difficult to kill. Armin keeps himself busy by maneuvering his horse out of normal titans’ grasping hands and towards the Ape Titan as quickly as possible. Mikasa and Levi make it so that he is not eaten along the way.

As soon as the Ape Titan notices Armin, Levi and Mikasa are gone, but that is part of the deal. Armin is alone now, but he has a purpose, and that strengthens him somewhat. He’s chosen this, and he’s doing something useful. If he can pull this off, then he will give humankind the last piece of the puzzle that it so desperately needs to just make this problem go away.

His childhood bullies always called Armin a heretic. Perhaps they were right, because what he’s doing right now just seems insane.

“Hey!” he shouts again, waving his clock with one hand and his hand with the other. “Down here!”

The Ape Titan’s expression of interest shifts to a different sort of intrigue as it looks down and notices Armin. One of those enormous hands lowers itself until Armin is literally plucked out of his saddle by his cloak, legs dangling in the air and extra blade cases clanking against his sheathed swords.

“You are a strange little human,” the Ape Titan remarks condescendingly, with perfect command of language. It doesn’t even have an accent. Its voice is deep and masculine, and Armin instantly finds himself thinking of the Ape Titan as a male.

Armin, though his heart is hammering harder than the bullies could ever make it go, though he is terrified enough to literally piss his pants, somehow finds the gumption to grimace at the titan’s breath. It smells rotten, like a hundred years without a toothbrush—but wait.

Against his better judgment, Armin sniffs again.

The smell is rotten, but it isn’t the smell of rotten flesh. It’s the smell of rotten plants—fruit, even!

The Ape Titan is a vegetarian?

Well, that puts a whole new perspective on things, doesn’t it?

“You’re a strange titan,” Armin replies, testing the waters. This is riskier than it sounds. If he does even one thing wrong, the Ape Titan can kill him only too easily. In truth, Armin is more scared than he’s ever been in his life. He’s even more scared than he was when looking down the barrel of a canon. Even more scared than when he was nearly eaten alive, or when he saw Eren eaten by that bearded titan, shortly before his first transformation.

The Ape Titan’s eyes match the color of honeycomb. They widen slightly at Armin’s gumption. Then it laughs—the sound cannot be mistaken for anything else.

“I am _the_ titan, little human,” the Ape Titan says. “I can kill you faster than you can blink.”

“Of course you can.” It’s all Armin can do to keep the terror from completely overtaking him. This is his only chance; his only chance. This is for Eren, and Mikasa, and his dead parents and grandfather, and the 104th training squad, and humanity itself. He just needs to keep the Ape Titan talking, that’s all. It’s just like talking to Pastor Nick. “All you have to do is let go. If I try and use my 3DMG, you can just grab the cables and swing me until I either die from going too fast or crash into something. I’m perfectly aware of these possibilities.”

“Then what are you trying to do, coming at me like this?”

“I’m trying to help humanity save itself, but that involves talking to you. To talk to you, I needed to approach you. You wouldn’t have known that I wanted to make contact, otherwise.”

“True enough,” the Ape Titan concedes genially. All around them, people and titans are dying. There are shouts, and screams, and the gut-wrenching sound of snapping bones and tearing flesh. There is the slicing of swords, the puttering and blowing of 3D maneuver gear, the thunder of the classic titans’ footsteps.

Armin’s cloak slips, and the next thing he knows he is choking, the secured clasp cutting off his air supply. He kicks his legs weakly, trying to pull himself up so that he can breathe again. His lungs are burning, and his heart is beating fast, way too fast. His vision is tunneling, his blood has turned to icy water, and each wheeze of air is a little more desperate than the last.

He is going to die like this, right here, and he isn’t even going to do anything useful. He’s not going to help Eren, or Mikasa, or anyone. His hands are still bleeding from too many blisters, and he will never live long enough to learn what sort of strength that might turn into. He’s just going to die like the worthless weakling he’s been trying so hard not to be.

He is too weak to support his own weight when the Ape Titan drops him onto his other palm. Instead Armin collapses, wheezing and coughing but still alive. The flesh of the hairy titan’s palm is steady and warm beneath him.

The Ape Titan could easily let him die, but he hasn’t. Yet. That means Armin still has the opportunity to accomplish this one goal.

Once he has recovered his breath—a process the Ape Titan watches with distinct fascination—Armin pushes himself to his feet and stands with as much dignity as he can muster. He hopes that the Titan doesn’t notice how tremulous his knees and hands are. “Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t thank me,” the Titan replies. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Neither am I.”

“Are you now?” He is expressing interest and amusement in equal parts. Altogether, it creates a rather condescending aura, but Armin pretends he hasn’t noticed this.

“Yes. I have a question for you.”

“Oh really? And what question might that be?”

“In your opinion,” Armin says. “What are we actually fighting about?”

Armin’s hands are in fists at his side, not to appear confrontational as much as to preserve what he can of the illusion that he is strong and not a terrified, quaking child of sixteen years. The scar-tinged calluses on his palms are leathery and tough against the pads of his fingers. It’s taken him so long to piece everything together, so much sneaking around and planning and fighting and watching other people die, so much banging his head against a metaphorical wall because he’s _so close_ , and yet he’s not anywhere near the truth at all. This is the culmination of everything he’s ever worked for, the moment in which the calluses finally form, or the blisters dig down a little deeper.

“In your own words,” Armin says before the Ape Titan can reply. “What is the enemy?”

The Ape Titan laughs again. From this vantage point, standing in his palm, Armin can feel the vibrations of it. It’s a lot like a minor earthquake, one that makes it a little hard for him to keep his feet. He manages, though, and straightens his stance when the Titan looks _right_ at him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the Titan chortles. “It’s really quite simple, little human. It’s the simplest enemy that’s ever existed.”

Once Armin hears it, he can acknowledge that it is, indeed, a simple objective. Just because it’s doesn’t mean it’s any less difficult to fight, of course, but at least Armin now has the full picture.

Knowing what it is you’re fighting, Armin has discovered, is half the battle.

* * *

It takes two more full years for humanity to win the war. By the end, the human race is equally exhausted, delirious, and ecstatic. They have lost far more people than they would have liked—Sasha, Connie, Levi, Erwin, most of the Garrison (including Hannes), Hanji, Jean’s right leg—the list keeps going on. Maria, Rose and Shina are now memorials, with names endlessly being carved into them. Armin doesn’t think they will ever be able to record all the people that died to make humanity’s freedom possible.

Armin is eighteen now, he’s pretty sure. It’s hard to say how young he is when he already feels so old. It’s all he can do to keep himself busy with his new position on the newly assembled Parliamentary Council so that the arthritic feelings don’t catch up to him. It’s not what he wants, really—Armin wants to leave, to explore this hard-won world of theirs—but the Parliament says they need him, and it’s true that his opinions often carry a lot of weight.

“Only if this is temporary,” Armin says as he agrees after long hours of consistent harassment. “I don’t want this position for the rest of my life.”

“That’s perfect!” exclaims the recruiter, a woman with vigor that reminds Armin of Hanji. Her handshake is firm and a little too enthused, and it brings about a somewhat painful twinge of nostalgia. “Perfect! That’s all we need you for, Mr. Arlet. Just a little bit of input from a war veteran to kick us in the right direction. Training wheels, you know. Training wheels.”

Jean is also on the Council, which is one of the only reasons (besides exasperation) that convince Armin to relent. Jean, who is only now healed enough to start using the prosthetic that’s been made for him. He smiles at Armin when they sit at the broad, circular Parliamentary table for the first time. The smile says with somewhat sheepish resignation, “Yeah, they got to me, too.”

Armin can’t help noticing that Jean looks different now. It’s not just the prosthetic where his right knee used to be, it’s in his face, the way he holds himself—Jean is a man now, no longer an adolescent in any sense of the term. Armin, while he feels like he’s one-hundred years old, always sees a child in his reflection. He doesn’t feel half as grown up as Jean looks now. It’s funny to him—why should he feel this way, when he and Jean are the same age?

Jean is actually the chair of the Council (one of the only reasons Armin’s input is so highly valued, most probably). He’s got a great sense of morality, and people know from the last year of the war what a natural leader he is. He also doesn’t look as if he wishes to go anywhere else.

“Where else can I go?” he asks, gesturing pointedly to the prosthetic that is leaning up against the kitchen table in his modest house, where he lives alone. He says that the prosthetic gets sweaty and uncomfortable if he wears it too long, though the doctors have assured him that it will get less so in time. “I might as well make good use of my lack of mobility.”

“If you really wanted to leave, that wouldn’t stop you.”

“What about you, Armin? I thought you and Eren shared the dream of wanting to explore this world. I would have thought you would be gone as soon as it was safe to go.”

“And yet here we are.”

Jean laughs. It’s not an entirely lighthearted sound. “I know. I see less of the world now that humanity is free from the titans than I did while we were under their thumb. How sad is that?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Yes, but I don’t have travelling companions like you do, either.”

“You could, if you asked.”

“It’s not the same.” Jean shakes his head, but it isn’t with self-pity or even sadness. He’s just stating facts, no more and no less. “We’re all close because we’re the only ones left of the 104th Trainees Squad, but you and I both know that I don’t have that kind of a relationship with them. Not like you.”

Armin isn’t sure what he thinks about this assessment. It isn’t that he can deny it, per se, it’s just… he can’t _really_ be what’s keeping them here, right?

Suddenly, he is too tired to think. It’s that old age he’s not supposed to feel again.

* * *

He expects Mikasa and Eren to leave these old walls behind any day now—has expected it since humanity won the war—and he continually registers surprise when they’re still here, saying good morning to him as they have for years.

“Because we’d never go without you,” Eren says when Armin brings this up over breakfast in their shared home. His tone is casual, but his body language is incredulous, and a little offended. He gestures with a somewhat lost air. “Seeing this world is your dream too, remember? Don’t tell me that’s changed!”

“It hasn’t, Eren,” Mikasa translates blandly. “Armin is having trouble understanding how much we value him.”

Mikasa is far, far too good at grasping the things Armin doesn’t say.

 _“What?”_ squawks Eren, flabbergasted.

Armin is on the Parliamentary Council because his confrontation with the Ape Titan is what gives humanity the information it needed to win the war, and his strategies were constantly being used on the battlefield. For all that he has done these things (and more, in some cases), it is still incredibly difficult for Armin to shake the impression—the _truth_ —of his own worthlessness. This is a conversation that he has with Mikasa and Eren with relatively predictable regularity, every few months or so.

Eren looks at Armin with more incredulity than ever. “Armin, is this true?”

Armin gestures helplessly. What else is there to say? It’s not like he can lie to Eren and Mikasa. He doesn’t know if he even possesses the capacity for it anymore.

“We’ll leave as soon as the Parliament doesn’t need you anymore,” Eren declares, not for the first time. “We decided that when they forced you into the job, Armin—all of us, together. Mikasa and I aren’t sneaking away and making plans that don’t involve you. You and I are _going_ to see the ocean for the first time together, just like we planned before Maria fell.”

Armin is frustrated and flustered in equal measure. “Obviously, that’s what I want to do, ideally, but—”

“—But what? What is there to dispute?” asks Eren.

Mikasa’s mastery of tough love is one of the things Armin admires most about her. She is ready and willing to cause discomfort, it if it will knock the one she’s trying to help back to homeostasis. For Eren, this usually manifests as physical violence—but Eren understands things better if they are happening in the physical realm, so being punched or slammed onto his back is the perfect bridge back to equilibrium. For Armin, who exists more in the mental realm, her actions don’t have to hurt in order to knock him off his proverbial feet.

Mikasa pushes Eren out of the way now and reaches across the scrubbed wooden table to take a hold of Armin’s wrist. She flips his palm up until he can see those old, scarred calluses. She looks him right in the eye, and says plainly, “Let it heal, Armin.”

The calluses didn’t form overnight. The secret to letting them heal is to cease aggravating them. When Armin worries over whether or not he’s as valuable to Mikasa and Eren as they are to him, or if they really want to leave the Walls with him, he is aggravating a wound that is not getting the time it needs to become callused and strong. He may feel older than his years sometimes, but he has time to give to this. He needs to, if he ever wants to be contented and happy. Once he relaxes and allows himself to fully recover, that old wound will not cause him trouble again. That is the tried and true metaphor for Armin’s life. He just needs to let it happen.

Mikasa’s dark eyes are unrelenting, but they are also full of empathy. She understands that this isn’t easy—but this is tough love, and tough love is never easy on the outset. Next to her, Eren is nodding and gesturing his agreement (not that he could overpower Mikasa anyway, but nevertheless).

Eren and Mikasa have remained here for Armin, nothing more and nothing less. The three of them have been together since the fall of Maria nearly eight years ago, three orphans in an increasingly small and scary world. None of them have any reason to change that now. There is no other, more convoluted line of logic; it’s just Armin’s doubt warping reality into something that might fit his false worldview.

Armin’s gaze flicks to the old scar just under Mikasa’s left eye, the one Annie gave her. It reminds him that he isn’t the only one who’s had to scar over in order to move on.

Mikasa pretends as if she doesn’t notice this as she keeps her stare steady, waits for Armin to look back. When he does, she concludes, “It’s that simple.”

And she’s right. The other trend that has become clearer and clearer in Armin’s life is that the simplest explanation is nearly always the right one. He doesn’t have to make it any more complicated than that.

Realizing this—not just intellectually acknowledging it, but truly _realizing—_ removes a weight from Armin’s shoulders that he didn’t even know he was carrying. It makes him feel much closer to his true age, more willing to see the person he will become once these old wounds become sturdy, strong scars.

Is it really that simple?

“Yes,” says Armin, sitting a little straighter. “Yes, it _is_ that simple.”


End file.
